De-Tached: Story One: Life With Beverly
by mabb5
Summary: After their Risian honeymoon, Jean-Luc and Beverly return to San Francisco to start their new lives together. But Jean-Luc discovers that he needs to make some adjustments in order to peacibly live with Beverly. This is the first story in the sequel to "Attached Meant". It would help to read that novel first but it is not necessary to do so.
1. Chapter 1: Two to Tango

_**A.N.: **__Rather that write a long novel sequel to ATTACHED MEANT, I've decided to write a series of short stories and/or novellas set in the ATTACHED MEANT A/U. This story takes place right after the newly-weds, Jean-Luc and Beverly, arrive on Earth. They've moved into the San Francisco house that Jean-Luc inherited from his Aunt Adele. Jean-Luc is about to become the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy, and Beverly is soon to become the head of Starfleet Medical._

_Though it would help to understand some of the plot details, it is not absolutely necessary for one to have read ATTACHED MEANT. Though I do recommend reading it if only to understand some of the people that are going to bedevil Jean-Luc and Beverly. And their plotlines._

_This story is set in the universe I created right after the episode "Attached". So everything that happened in canon after that episode no longer exists here. Riker is now the captain of the Enterprise and performed the marriage ceremony for the newly promoted admirals on board the ship. Wesley is a senior cadet at the Academy. Robert and Rene are alive and well. Etc., etc., etc._

_Though at times a bit naughty, there will be nothing graphic in language or deed._

_STAR TREK is Paramount's property. I'm just playing in their playground for a while. All the usual disclaimers apply._

_And please, if you feel so inclined, leave a review - good or bad. It's what encourages writers to keep on writing, if only to prove the negative reviewer is in error. Heaven knows, I turned a short story into a novel because people kept encouraging me. And their kind words have brought about my continuation of that alternate universe which is something that I don't think that I really would have done without those reviews._

_The "Attached Meant" universe is rather different from my other A/U novels, THE BEST LAID PLANS and THE SKY'S THE LIMIT. These series of stories are also not connected to any of my other short TNG stories and novellas._

_Unabashedly P/C. Future stories will involve the Enterprise, and Will's difficulties in adjusting to life as her captain. Worf's period of adjustment as a part time instructor at the Academy. Will and Deanna. Wesley graduating, and more._

_**DE-TACHED: LIFE WITH BEVERLY**_

_**Story One**_

_**CHAPTER ONE: It Takes Two To Tango**_

The tempo to the dance music shifted. Trying to appear to not have noticed the subtle change, Admiral Jean-Luc Picard continued to study the padd he held in his hand. Or at least, he was doing his best to appear to be studying the padd.

Beverly knew better. She didn't have to glance in his direction to know that her husband, seated at his side of their antique partner's desk, had been observing her exercise and dance routines. He always did, regardless of what he was pretending to be doing on his half of the desk whenever she chose to exercise in the large library that they both had chosen as their office cum retreat in the mansion that Jean-Luc had inherited from his Aunt Adele.

She loved this room. The burled wood panels, the parquetry floor, the leaded and stained glass doors and windows, and the shelves filled with the book collections of generations of bibliophiles always made her feel connected in many ways to her husband's past as well as to her own. This large room was her favorite in the entire mansion. It was also a room that was preserved closest to the house's original Arts and Crafts architectural styling.

There was a large open space by the fireplace for her exercises if she rolled up the Sarouk burgundy oriental rug that usually was placed in front of the fire place. She had noticed over the past few weeks that Jean-Luc had automatically rolled up the rug in the mornings, as if in anticipation of her doing aerobics some time during the day.

Her hidden smile grew as she contemplated that fact. Sometimes, if she was in a certain mood, she'd do her exercises or dance routines outdoors, on the broad balcony that flanked their library overlooking the gardens that Boothby had created and maintained for decades. But usually, she preferred not to be observed by prying eyes - other than by those belonging to her husband.

The music changed again. This time it was a tango.

Sighing, as if he were being disturbed by this, even though he knew that Beverly wasn't buying his act in the slightest, he put down his review of freshman class exobiology cadets, and looked over at his wife.

"_Whatever Lola wants…Lola gets…and little man, lovely Lola wants you…"_, some unknown singer seductively sang.

He stood, drained the final drops out of his tea cup, placed the Limoges cup back on its saucer, and then stepped away from the desk. He dusted off imaginary croissant crumbs from his navy blue shirt and matching slacks.

"If you're not in the mood, Jean-Luc…", his loving wife teased.

"You know I'm always in the mood when you exercise, Beverly," he warned. For indeed he was. She was only wearing a tight silvered leotard with a cerise chiffon very short skirt. And grey silk stockings with matching cerise garters. In fact, Beverly rarely wore anything other than her leotard. _She was a practical woman, his wife. _For there were certain routines when her hips swayed, and certain desirous body parts jiggled, that would always put him _in the mood…_

He extended his hand.

She took it. And pulled him into the tango. "You really are improving," she breathily stated as they executed a difficult move quite precisely. "You're going to shock the hell out of Will Riker the next time we meet him at an admiralty function."

He froze. "Beverly, I will dance like this, with you, here in private. I _will not_ _dance_ _like this _in public." A finger strayed dangerously close to one of her garters as he slid down her body to the seductive rhythms of the tango.

"You've nothing to be ashamed of, Jean-Luc. You're really rather good, now." She had to concentrate on what she was saying since he was now palming a certain part of her anatomy that always readily responded to his caress.

"That isn't the point." He tried to ignore his bride's rising excitement.

She brushed aside a wayward strand of hair from her eyes. From the warm glow that she saw in his eyes, she thought she knew his source of perturbation. This time she let her grin become visible to him. "Jean-Luc, there is a difference between dancing the tango as lovers and dancing the tango at a diplomatic function."

He ruefully returned her smile. "True. My mind may know the difference, but I am not so sure that my flesh comprehends this distinction." He twirled her so that she ended up in a tight embrace against his body.

Her grin broadened. "Randy, are we?" She boldly eyed his body, delightedly noting the desired results of her exertions.

He deliberately glanced over her tight outfit. "How could I not be?" And then he eyed her garters in anticipation of removing them.

They danced some more for quite a few minutes.

Then she broke from their embrace and smiled again at him. Her sensuous smile bordered on the wicked. She walked over to the spiral iron staircase in the corner of the library that connected to their private bedroom suite on the floor above. She extended her hand toward him.

Without saying another word, he took it and trailed after Beverly as they climbed the staircase. He definitely appreciated following after Beverly. _For he was an ass man after all…_

"The things I do to get you to do some sort of exercise…," Beverly half-whispered to herself as she led him toward their bed. Soon, they were laughing together, in each other's arms.

**=/\= =/\= =/\= **

"Any idea where the A_ds_ are," Mildred cheerfully asked, as she entered the formal home offices of Admiral Jean-Luc Picard that were located at the base of the Picard mansion.

Jean-Luc Picard had yet to formally assume command of the Academy hence his informal mornings at home. He had a few weeks left before the start of the second semester which was when Admiral Brand was expected to retire. In the mean time, he was attempting to review the file of every cadet and to at least learn all of the cadet's names before the start of the new semester. Admiral Brand usually saw him a few times during the week to bring him up to speed on everything from the protocols of the office to being introduced to the teaching staff.

Picard's personal assistant was Mildred Krebs who would join the staff at the superintendent's office when the time came. Mildred was an older woman of an indeterminate, well-preserved age. She always was professional in civilian business attire, even if her attitude wasn't. Being a distant relation to the Fleet Admiral, Winston Holt Wiley, had long inured her to the formal machinations of the Admiralty, especially since she'd spent decades dealing with the Federation and Starfleet bureaucracies. She'd learned long ago that irreverence was the best defense in dealing with bureaucrats or toadies.

Mildred Krebs had known Admiral Picard for decades. She'd become his private assistant when he'd first received command of the _Enterprise_ and she had helped Jean-Luc pick his original crew. Refusing to actually go into space when the _Enterprise _was christened, Mildred returned to her retirement. Then when Beverly had been CMO for that short year, she'd worked for Beverly as well. A wise friend had advised that she help Beverly too. For both Jean-Luc and Beverly were friends of Guinan. And Mildred was also a loyal friend of that El Aurian lady.

Krebbie's first assistant, Ensign Cherry Ames-S'Rock, looked up from her view screen as Mildred went over to her French Provincial bureau plat desk. Mildred's assistant turned pink at the thought of answering her boss' question. Of course, being a natural born red-head, blushing was something that she did rather frequently.

Mildred raised an eyebrow. "Oh. They're _busy_ this morning." She mightily sighed. "I suppose it would be too much to ask of Jean-Luc and Beverly to create a schedule for their spontaneous displays of affection." Mildred had quickly discovered within the first three hours after Jean-Luc and Beverly had moved into their home, that the automatic recording devices located in every room for security purposes, should be turned off the moment the admirals were alone. She had so ordered the programming change to the security system. The surveillance would only turn back on if a third person or persons entered whatever room in which the admirals might be.

"They're still in the _honeymoon_ phase," Mildred observed. The newlweds had been busily 'christening' various rooms in their private quarters since they had moved in.

Aunt Adele's mansion had been used as an embassy for quite a few years before the Picards took it over. There were formal rooms for diplomatic functions not to mention a garden terrace large enough for a typical Admiralty to-do. There was a very large private section where Jean-Luc and Beverly had their suite, along with quite a few guest bedrooms, a small private dining room, a morning room, an exercise studio that Beverly would eventually turn into a dance studio, a great room, a small kitchen that was adjacent to the embassy-size kitchen, a still room, and the library that the admirals used as their study. Wesley had already claimed a guest suite at the opposite end of the house from where his mother's bedroom was located. There was even a personal transporter station. There were hot houses for flowers, an orangerie, and even a special hot house for orchids - Beverly's favorite flower - that Bootby had maintained for years. For when Picard had inherited the house, Boothby had offered to take care of the property for him. And Boothby had done so for many decades, even living in a caretaker's cottage on the property, near the beach and the stables. All of this - the house and the surrounding properties - were under constant observation by Starfleet security, with two guards on duty at all times. They tried to be as discreet as possible, even though the security of the admirals was paramount to Starfleet command. For there had been threats against Jean-Luc Picard going back for many years. And Mr. Worf and Mr. Data were not taking any chances when it came to the security of their friends. They were the ones that had designed the current system.

"A honeymoon - it can last for years," Cherry observed as she pinked again at the thought of her husband, even though she'd been married to another of Picard's former assistants for the past four years. They were still in the _honeymoon stage_. She'd met her husband Lieutenant Commander S'Rock, as an ensign. He'd been lured away by Mildred, from Admiral Nakamura's staff to help Jean-Luc Picard with his original choices for the _Enterprise's_ crew. She had also worked with Tasha Yar in helping Picard make his decisions. After the _Enterprise_ had left for Farpoint Station, for some reason, Ensign S'Rock kept in touch with Cherry through the years. A few years later, after Cherry had graduated from the Academy, she found herself married to the Vulcan. Perhaps it was their mutual appreciation of Starfleet bureaucracy that had brought them together. Whatever it was, Cherry was grateful, for she'd found her soul mate in S'Rock. Her husband was now part of Winston Holt Wiley's staff which she suspected was part of Mildred's master plan.

There were some who believed that Mildred Krebs could actually run Starfleet Command if she so wished to do so. There were some, like Cherry - and possibly Jean-Luc Picard - who actually suspected that Mildred might actually be doing so. She certainly was capable of it.


	2. Chapter 2: Gut Instincts

LIFE WITH BEVERLY:

CHAPTER TWO: GUT INSTINCTS…

Jean-Luc wished that he could snuggle into his favorite lover's pillow, but his beloved was actually sitting up in bed, apparently reading a padd. _In the nude. _She was also lightly snoring even as the padd slipped from her hand to slide down her breast onto the slate blue Alagorisian cotton sheets.

Contentedly sighing, Jean-Luc studied her for a few moments, not bothering to disguise his sheer adoration of his wife. Her beauty as always, threatened to overwhelm him. But it was her flaws that he held most dear. The sprinkling of freckles, the birth mark in a rather interesting position on her breast, the fact that she snored… He counted his favorite flaws. And then he closed his eyes just for a minute.

Ninety minutes later, Beverly opened her eyes. Stretching, then glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she was surprised that it was after one in the afternoon. She hadn't realized that she would doze so long after her mid-morning delight with her husband. A fond smile crossed her lips as she considered their recent lovemaking. Then she glanced over at her husband, wondering what kind of mood he now was in. Except that he wasn't in any kind of mood. Instead, he was sleeping rather deeply as evidenced by his soft snoring.

For a moment she was amused. And then she paused as to recollect other mornings of exercise, tangos and sex over the past three weeks. Jean-Luc had slept deeply after those recent encounters as well. _Was she wearing him out?_ She supposed that it was possible - especially if he wasn't getting enough sleep at night. Being married had not completely stopped his bouts of insomnia.

She slid out of bed and observed that her movements about their master suite had not disturbed him. Checking her padd for his schedule she noted that he had a meeting with Admiral Brand at two p.m.

Putting down her padd, she went into their joint dressing room, took a quick sonic shower, and donned her CMO's uniform. Her fingers fumbled for a moment as she put her admiral's bars onto her collar. She still wasn't quite used to wearing it. _She wondered if she ever would get used to the weight of them…_

Poking her head out of the dressing room, she saw that Jean-Luc had not yet awakened. Apparently her rummaging and dressing had not been enough noise to disturb him. Considering this fact for a moment and then picking up her medical scanner from her emergency kit that she kept on a shelf located in her two-thirds of the dressing room/closet, she walked over to the bed and scanned him. There appeared to be nothing wrong with her husband except for the fact that he was sleeping. For some reason, he really was tired.

_Still, something started niggling in her brain cells. Something wasn't quite right…_

Making up her mind, she walked through the dressing room, away from the bedroom, over to the sitting room that she had yet to start to decorate.

Her personal view screen was on a small French inlaid escritoire that had once belonged to Jean-Luc's Aunt Adele. Beverly had found it charming the first time she noticed it in storage. The writing desk and a small matching chair were the only furniture in the empty sitting room sorely in need of new wall paper and paint to cover the maroon walls with goldenrod trim. Redecorating this room was high on Beverly's _to do_ list.

She powered up her view screen. A moment later she was put through to Admiral Brand.

"Beverly, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Mercedes. And you?"

"Rushed. And facing an ethical dilemma. I'm still debating how much of this mess I really should leave behind to be dumped onto Jean-Luc's strong shoulders."

Beverly laughed. "Jean-Luc loves a challenge. You've got grandbabies to spoil. So dump away. And that's partially why I'm calling. Jean-Luc can't make his meeting with you this afternoon." With a perfectly straight face, Beverly added, "Something came up."

Admiral Brand only blinked. "Good. Though he may be the first superintendent that played hooky before he took over. Anyway, that'll give me a chance to sort through more stuff before I officially turn everything over to him in thirteen days. I can hardly wait to spoil my great-grandchildren…"

Beverly shook her head. "Oh, Jean-Luc is not playing hooky, Mercedes. He already can identify by sight every cadet at the academy. And he'll know their scholastic records by the time he swears in."

"That's something I was never able to learn. The cadets - they kept a'changin'." Mercedes grinned. "After a while I just paid attention to the smart ones and the really dumb ones." She arched an eyebrow.

Beverly swallowed the bait. "I got the impression that Jean-Luc had crossed a captain or two when he was a cadet. That he wasn't the _perfect _cadet."

"When Jean-Luc was a cadet, he most definitely was not _perfect. _The great ones never are. Try and get your hands on Alynna Nechayev's opinion of him from back then, _before_ he destroys _those_ records…"

"Oh, Jean-Luc won't destroy any official records. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he uses his disreputable past as an example when lecturing some of those _really dumb and smart_ cadets."

"You're probably right."

Beverly eyed the silver-haired, very forthright woman. "Why do I get the feeling that if you'd been Jean-Luc's superintendent you would have called him both smart and dumb."

"Considering how long it took him to marry you, you know your husband so well, Beverly."

Both ladies laughed together.

"Beverly, if he's up to it, I can see Jean-Luc tomorrow at one."

A very naughty response almost crossed Beverly's lips, but she wasn't _that_ well acquainted with Admiral Brand. They might call each other by their first names, but a true, lasting friendship had yet to develop. Though Beverly did believe that it was certainly possible that a friendship was growing.

After signing off, Beverly rested against the back of her chair, considering her husband. Professionally, personally and ethically, she should no longer be his personal physician. It was one thing to be his CMO on board a star ship. It was another thing to continue in that position in a complex full of doctors. She needed to find a doctor to take over that duty. Picking the right doctor to deal with her husband was not going to be an easy task.

She mentally reviewed the few doctors with whom she was acquainted at Starfleet Medical. Making up her mind, she contacted another doctor that she knew. She needed more information before picking a physician.

A minute later the image of Captain Kate Pulaski appeared on her screen.

"Beverly! How good to see you. Missing your old job already?"

"Kate. You'd better believe I am missing my old sickbay. I knew where everything was there…" Beverly's gaze was wistful for a moment. Then she pulled herself together. "Kate, I need some advice."

"Depends."

Beverly laughed. "My request is easy - I think."

"Shoot." Kate waited for Beverly's response.

"I need to find a personal doctor for Jean-Luc." She had to wait for Kate to stop chortling.

"You're asking _me? _Ooohhh, the possibilities!_"_

Beverly interrupted her. "_And for myself_."

"Damn. I know the absolutely perfect personal physician for Captain, er, Admiral Jean-Luc Picard. But I wouldn't dream of inflicting such a crotchety, oh-so-rationally-superior, pain-in-the-ass Vulcan on _you_."

After Beverly stopped laughing, she asked, "Well, since you've been around Starfleet Medical a lot more than I have been during the past few years, I was wondering if there is anyone here that you'd recommend?"

Kate's eyes narrowed. She was sensing some sort of concern coming from Beverly. She suddenly became serious. "Is something wrong with Jean-Luc?"

"Not that I can detect. His scans show that everything is normal - or at least as normal as whatever is normal for him."

"You know, Beverly, that sentence actually makes sense to me." Both ladies laughed together again. "Beverly, I'll be sending you a few names of doctors I trust - and like. Run them by Mildred. She's got a pretty good take on how to handle Jean-Luc. And which one of these doctors would survive Jean-Luc. I pity the one you pick."

"Thanks, I think." Beverly grinned. "You don't pity the doctor that I'd pick for myself?"

"Don't be silly. Whomsoever is lucky enough to become your personal physician will be grateful for the privilege the rest of their professional lives."

Beverly was about to protest but she realized that Kate would have none of it. "Thank you, Kate."

"Don't be silly. You'd do the same for me. By the way, not that you heard it from me, but Mrs. Beck is pregnant. Nurse Beck has been floating around sick bay for the past few days - and he wasn't using an anti-grav unit."

Beverly chatted for a few more minutes, getting caught up on all the important gossip before Kate started complaining about her slave driver of commanding officer who was paging her to come to the bridge.

Letting Kate go, Beverly sat there for a while, mulling over things.

"I heard you laughing."

Looking up, Beverly saw her husband standing in the doorway of the dressing room, wearing only his well-worn grey robe. He walked over to the desk and bent down to kiss her cheek.

Beverly turned her head to make this gesture an affectionate quick kiss on the lips. Smiling, she rubbed her thumb over her husband's lips and removed the traces of her lip gloss, before she let him go.

"I was talking with Kate Pulaski."

Jean-Luc shuddered, before asking, "And is Will looking for a new CMO?"

Beverly chuckled. "No. Kate just had to tell me that Nurse Beck and his wife are expecting a baby." Knowing that inquiring about such things would never have occurred to Jean-Luc, Beverly smiled before she added, "And Captain Riker is a slave driver."

"Ah, he's following in my foot steps. Good for him."

Deciding not to brooch the subject of a new personal physician until she'd sorted through Kate's list of names after she'd received it, Beverly decided to change the subject.

"I talked with Admiral Brand."

"Oh?"

"She wants to see you tomorrow instead of today."

"I see." These words sounded ice cold.

Beverly could see his professional persona flowing over him. He thought that she was interfering - which she was; not that she would admit it to him.

"You were sound asleep, Jean-Luc. I really didn't think that I should disturb you." She let her fingers slide up his robe's collar until they reached his jaw line. Slowly she let her fingers traced the angles of his face, hoping to distract him.

"Why not? Disturb me, that is."

Beverly's smile held a shadow of sorrow as she answered him. "Your sleep has been disturbed far too many times during the past few years, Jean-Luc. I just thought that you should have a chance to listen to your body and do what your body is telling you to do when it isn't a life-or-death situation."

He paused, considered her words and then nodded. "You're right of course. Once I become Superintendent and you become ensconced at Starfleet Medical, I suspect that neither one of us will have that much time for naps in the afternoon."

Beverly walked her fingers down his bare chest. "Well, we don't just have to nap, you know."

"Beverly," he sighed, exasperated. "You are an insatiable wench."

"You say that like it's a bad thing…"

Her husband bent down and lifted his bride into his arms. "Much to my surprise, I am discovering that it is a highly-to-be-desired thing." He kissed her brow. Then he placed her back down on her desk chair.

"Jean-Luc…" she protested as his fingers swiftly undid her slacks.

"You're the one who got dressed, _mon coeur…" _Suddenly he stopped her undressing and asked, "Was there a reason _why_ you're wearing your admiral's uniform?"

"I've a meeting - at four."

"Whatever shall we do for the next two hours?"

"Anything you wish, my darling, as long as we save enough time for a bath together."

Jean-Luc thought that her request was reasonable as he bent down to passionately kiss his bride.

Eventually they made it back to bed.

**=/\= =/\= =/\= **

Mildred checked the interior house monitor and then sighed. _You'd think they were teenagers…_ she mumbled to herself. Then she was also grateful that neither Admiral realized how closely they were being monitored. Jean-Luc knew about the security arrangements but she didn't think he'd comprehended just how precise they were. Of course, on board the _Enterprise_, he'd been subject to a similar scrutiny as well by his security officers. It was one thing to experience monitoring when you were captain of a ship. It is another thing entirely when you are in your own home.

Checking her messages in her private office, she wasn't that surprised to find one from Kate Pulaski. Reading it, she understood what Kate wanted her to do for Beverly. Actually, Krebbie had been expecting such a request. She'd already made up one of her _infamous _little lists of names, for Beverly, when the time came. And apparently, that time was now.

Having a pretty good idea of which doctor she'd recommend, Mildred closed down her terminal. Then went in search of Ludvig, Jean-Luc's personal chef for more than eight years. Mildred had hired Ludvig before Jean-Luc had even set foot on board the _Enterprise. _She knew that the man was happy to be back in San Francisco. Though he'd been on board the _Enterprise_ since the beginning, when it came to formal functions which was an area in which he shined, Captain Jean-Luc Picard had sparsely used him. Though the _Enterprise_ had had many diplomatic functions under the command of Captain Picard, these functions had been sporadic. In short, much as Ludvig liked being Captain Picard's personal chef, the man had been bored on board ship. But here, in San Francisco, he was anticipating being in his element.

Wandering through the large embassy size kitchen, Mildred finally found the man in the smaller kitchen that was used when there would only be a few people for dinner.

"Wesley's coming," she announced. "He's bringing Bronislawa with him."

Ludvig was suddenly happy. "Ah, Cadet Olezewski. Now there is a woman who appreciates fine cuisine. I'll add borscht to the menu." He arched an eyebrow. "Beverly will consider borscht to be healthy. The rest will simply enjoy." He suddenly paused. "I was only planning on a crème brulee with fresh raspberries for desert. Is that acceptable? Or should I bake something else…" He started wandering about the pantry, looking at what he had in stock.

"Luddie, you make the best crème brulee in Starfleet - better even than Winnie's chef. Even Jean-Luc cleans his plate when you make it."

This temperamental chef had a delighted smile at the thought of besting the head of Starfleet's chef. Fleet Admiral Winston Holt Wiley was famous for the cuisine that was served at his dinner parties. Few personal chefs in Starfleet came close to the level of expertise and sophistication as the admiral's legendary chef. But Ludvig had his ambitions. And his expectations that one day the Starfleet officer that he'd chosen to follow so many years ago would one day achieve the highest of heights whether it be through diplomacy or the admiralty. Ludvig really didn't care which. He just wanted his talents to be recognized at lofty levels. For that was his destiny.

"You wish to have your usual _finder's fee_?" Ludvig was always accommodating to Mildred, for she was the one who had chosen him for Picard in the first place.

"An order of crème brulee to go," Mildred cheerfully agreed anticipating a ramekin of heaven at the end of her long day.

Ludvig cleared his throat. "Cadet Olezewski, is she, uh, Cadet Crusher's date?"

"I think that they're just friends, Luddie. Near as I can tell, Brawny cares more for her warp engines than she does for her fellow cadets." She thought she caught a look of satisfaction in Luddie's gaze. "You're _almost_ too old for her," Mildred warned. But she wasn't going to prevent Ludvig from pursuing the young lady, if he wished to do so. Branislava was a very smart senior cadet. When it came to everything mathematical or scientific, she excelled at it. But when it came to dealing with the opposite sex, she was lost in the stars. Ludvig just might be the answer.

"Good." Then Ludvig cleared his throat again. "How is the _admiral_?" Ludvig always used a certain tone of respectful voice whether he was referring to his captain who was now an admiral..

"Fine, I think." Ludvig was not a man inclined to seek out gossip. This concerned Mildred. "What do you mean?"

"It's just that Jean-Luc isn't following his usual dining patterns. He's actually been having second helpings lately."

"Oh." Mildred grinned. "Maybe he's just been getting more exercise. And is hungry."

"Perhaps."

As Ludvig wandered off to check on his casserole, Mildred pondered the chef's question. For she too had noticed something slightly off about Jean-Luc over the past few weeks too.


	3. Chapter 3: Defining Happily Ever After

_**Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 3: Defining Happily Ever After**_

"Harummmpphhh…" he muttered to himself as he bent over and picked up a grey heeled tap shoe resting on the slate blue colored Kerman Oriental carpet just inside the door to their bedroom. He muttered the same sound again as he bent over to pick up a pink legging. Then he went in search of their mates. He found them a few meters closer to the walk-in closet/dressing room that Beverly had sort of confiscated since the moment they'd moved into his inheritance.

He glanced about as if looking for something and then located it. "At least she hung up her uniform - this time," he mumbled under his breath, as he picked up the pink leotard and skirt that was in a clump on the lounge.

"Jean-Luc, is that you?" a cheerful voice called out from beyond the bathroom door.

"Yes, Beverly." This was said with his calmest, most controlled voice.

"Come and join me."

"Harumph." he muttered again. Then he leaned over and placed the socks and dance clothes in the recycler, her shoes neatly on her dancing shoes' rack, and stood up, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against the edge of the closet door for a brief second. He strove to maintain his control. "I'll be there in a moment." He kicked off his slippers, took one step closer to the bathroom door in his bare feet, and then cursed in pain, rather loudly, _"Merde!"_ Hopping on one foot he plopped himself down on the Federation blue and gold silk embroidered upholstered bench that was in the center of the dressing room.

"Jean-Luc. Is something wrong?" For Beverly had caught the edge of pain in Jean-Luc's cursing.

"I stepped on your damn admiral's bar!" he yelled back as he inspected the rising bruise and slight cut on the ball of his foot. "You're always losing them!"

A moment later Beverly entered the dressing room wearing only a rather large ivory towel wrapped around her damp, scented body.

She knelt before him trying to inspect the damage. He jerked his foot away from her. She slapped his hands away and grabbed his ankle. "Behave!" she ordered.

Reluctantly, he relaxed and permitted his wife to inspect his injury.

"Give me a moment, and I'll fix you right up." Standing and then kissing the top of his head, she added in a much softer tone of voice, "And if you're a good boy, I might kiss it and make it better." With that, she went to her med kit, duly noting as she walked by her uniform, that her admiral's bars were right where they were supposed to be - on her uniform collar. Pausing for a moment, she inspected the thick Oriental rug on the floor, and immediately spotted the offending bars. She bent over, picked them up, handed the bars that belonged to her husband over to him without saying a word, and then bent over to fix Jean-Luc's foot.

He glanced down at the bars that did not have a caduceus on them and grimaced.

When she was finished, she sat down next to Jean-Luc, crowding him so that their hips touched.

Not quite ready to admit that he'd been in the wrong about the source of his injury, he instead quietly asked, "You were saying something about kissing it and making it better?"

She ignored that statement. He wasn't the only one who could be out of sorts. Glancing about the dressing room, she too-casually stated, "You know, this room connects to the rooms beyond. At one point this truly was a master suite, complete with master and mistress bedrooms and bathrooms, as well as two dressing rooms and a sitting room. In the old days, you really had to walk if you felt like sex in the middle of the night." She ignored his disapproving glare. "I'm thinking of putting a bed in the bedroom on the other side."

"No!" His reaction was sharply and stiffly stated.

She eyed him even as she mentally relaxed at his over-reaction to her suggestion of sleeping somewhere else. _He didn't want her to leave… _"I didn't say that I'd be _sleeping_ there."

"What?"

Beverly knew that she was confusing Jean-Luc. And that he was trying not to reveal it to her. "At least, not all the time. Only when I am staying up late working on something."

"No."

This time he was starting to sound angry at such a suggestion.

Beverly smiled, heartened by his protests in spite of his grumpiness. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder even as she stroked his arm. "Darling, I'm only proposing that since I'm going to be decorating those rooms anyway, it might be a wise idea to create another place to which we can retreat."

He was silent for a moment. "I don't care _where we sleep _as long as _we sleep together_. I don't ever want to sleep in an empty bed again - when it is not necessary, of course."

She smiled. "I agree. Even if someday when I might be furious with you, we still should share the same bed after we're done yelling at each other." She understood his feelings for they were hers as well. "Well then, when I get that room finished, let's sleep there for a while." Her voice softened, acquiring a husky tone. "This is a big house. We may want to try out _all _the bedrooms to see which ones we like best."

He joined in with her laughter, relaxing into the irrepressible force that now ruled his life. "Such a dilemma..." He leaned over to kiss her even as he fingered the knot to her towel.

She swatted away his hands. "I've got a meeting that I must attend…"

His smile was full of understanding. "Later, then."

She stood and whispered, "Now, let me dress. Go and bother Mildred. I'm sure that she'll find something for you to do."

He watched her dress before he left. Suddenly all was right with the world again.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

"Where the devil are my slippers!" he grouchily complained.

Beverly sighed a most patient sigh before she looked up from the padd she was reading whilst resting in bed against a wall of blue pillows. In a loud, clear voice she asked, "Computer, where are Admiral Jean-Luc Picard's slippers?"

"Admiral Jean-Luc Picard's slippers are located in the admiral's closet, the first quadrant, second shelf to the floor, by the southern door."

The grumpy admiral groaned. "You placed location markers on my slippers?" Though he did have to admire her obvious solution to a problem that had vexed him over the years.

"That seemed to be the most efficient way to answer your slipper question. This is a big house. It's easy to lose them. Be nice and polite to the computer, and she'll answer your question every time."

Ignoring Beverly's sarcasm, he glanced about. "I know I didn't place my slippers in the dressing room." He paused and thought for a moment. "At least, I don't remember placing them…"

Beverly lightly laughed. "You're not going crazy, Jean-Luc. Mildred got one of those servobots to pick up around our suite. I've noticed that you seem distressed when I move one of your books or touch your tea cup, so I thought a servo unit putting things back where they belong was the simplest solution."

He didn't know whether to kiss her or to complain. He did have to appreciate her solution though.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

Beverly mightily sighed as she stirred more cream into her coffee. Resting back against her bright yellow wicker fan back arm chair, she sighed again as she looked out over her beautiful garden. She was sitting at a small table in a breakfast nook near the family kitchen. Jean-Luc had dashed off this morning after only a cup of tea. But Beverly didn't have to be at her offices until ten a.m., so she was enjoying a peaceful cup of coffee.

Mildred entered the room with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and placed a fresh pot of coffee on the sunny yellow table next to Beverly.

"Not fun, is it?" she asked as she sat down next to Beverly.

"What isn't fun?"

"Educating Jean-Luc on how to be a husband."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "He's perfectly fine with the lover part. And the companion part. But the living-with part…"

"You're the one who married a crotchety old bachelor."

Beverly sighed again. "I never really realized the crotchety part existed. And to what extent. I guess I was ignoring the evidence."

"And love does conquer all."

Beverly slowly nodded in agreement. "You'd think I was a delusional teenager expecting happily-ever-afters now that I've married Jean-Luc."

"Beverly, the man's lived by himself for more than thirty years. He hasn't had to share a cabin with a crewmate in quite a while. From what I've heard, he's never really lived with a lover on a full time basis in decades."

Considering that Mildred thought that it was her duty to learn all the gossip that wasn't in the official files about everyone she cared about or worked for, Beverly did not question the accuracy of the lady's information.

Beverly thought briefly of what Jean-Luc had told her about his relationship with Eline. She guessed that in his life as Kamen, Eline had accommodated herself to his needs in those idyllic memories for they hadn't really been flesh and blood occurrences. "Mildred, do you have any suggestions as to how to handle him?" She ruefully laughed. "There are times I don't think that he appreciates my sense of humor."

"From what I've seen he likes it just fine," Mildred observed as she recalled her list of the rooms that the newlyweds had already 'christened'. "Beverly, the problem with Jean-Luc is that he is a man - a man _very_ set in his ways."

"You can say that again. He's used to things being a certain way. And I certainly haven't figured out all of his 'ways' yet."

"Honey, just tell him to program the servobot. That will solve that problem."

"If only it were that simple."

"Jean-Luc has always been a private man, Beverly. Hon, he's still going to have a hard time coping with the loss of his instinctual privacy around you. You're invading and conquering his territory whether he consciously realizes it or not."

Beverly picked up a croissant and slathered some raspberry-rhubarb jam on it.

Mildred did the same.

"So what should I do, Mildred?"

"You've been married before. What did you do with Jack?"

"Jack was eager to be my husband; ready to be my husband. He was not a solitary man in nature like Jean-Luc. Jack really didn't need that much training except when it came to changing Wesley's diapers."

"Of course Jack was just playing house with you. Then he went back to his real work, his ship."

Beverly thought for a moment. "That's true. In actuality, we lived together only about eight months during the years of our marriage. I guess you could call it 'playing house'."

"But Jean-Luc is different. You're building a life together now. And he has no where to go when that gets to be too much. There's no ship to run to."

"I've got to be careful that I don't drive him into thinking that his superintendent's office is his only safe haven."

Mildred nodded in agreement. "Honey, I've outlived three husbands, have four sons and two grandsons. And of all the men in my life - including Winnie - Johnny boy is the most complicated and difficult man of them all."

"I'm sure that he'd say that he was the _least_ difficult," Beverly observed.

Both ladies laughed in unison. "That he would," Mildred gasped.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

Jean-Luc looked about their bedroom, examining the small things. Everything was in its place. The mahogany book stand next to his new, favorite, comfortable arm chair, held all of his current reading choices and padds. There was a carafe standing next to his favorite tea cup and saucer sitting on a small side table by the navy blue upholstered chair. A vase full of zinnias and marigolds was centered on the oak mantelpiece. The lavender upholstered slipper chair by the window had not a solitary flimsy, silk undergarment draped over it. There wasn't a half-empty coffee cup in sight. And there wasn't a slipper - hers or his - in sight either. In short, the room was in picture-perfect condition. _And somehow, instinctually, it felt so very wrong to him…_

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

"That was absolutely, sinfully delicious," Beverly declared as she placed down her Georgian sterling dessert spoon. The mocha chocolate mousse she'd just consumed had been the best mousse she'd ever eaten. She'd eaten all of it with no apologies for delighting in it. She then stirred the cream in her coffee with a coffee spoon that matched the dessert spoon. And then she took a sip of the finest brewed coffee that she'd ever tasted. In short, this luncheon had been divine.

"Thank you, Beverly. I always knew that you appreciated the finer things in life," her host replied, pleased that he had pleased Beverly. Winston Holt Wiley knew the difference between toadying and true compliments. Beverly's opinions - at least of the food that he served - had always been genuine.

"It was a superb lunch, Winston. I'm glad that you asked me to come."

"Well, when you called my office to make an appointment I took this as a sign from the heavens that I should ask you to lunch. It's been years since we've shared a quiet meal together."

"I just expected to take a few minutes of your time…"

"You know me, Beverly. The chance to spend an hour or two in the company of an intelligent, beautiful woman is something that I rarely deny myself." He eyed one of his favorite doctors in her admiral's uniform. Few people actually looked good in such a uniform. Beverly was the exception. "You know, Red, you can petition to change the style of your uniform if you wish."

"That's something I've been meaning to discuss with you, Winston. The new standard uniform is not that practical for medical personnel - especially those people who staff the intensive care wards and surgeries."

"Meaning?"

"We need pockets! Places where we can put all the stuff that we need to carry. At the very least, we need a pocket for the medical tricorders and padds."

"See to it."

Beverly blinked. _He was authorizing her to change the uniforms just like that?_

"Of course, Winston."

Winston motioned toward a crystal decanter and two glasses that a silent yeoman waiter had just placed on the table. "Port, Beverly?"

"No, thank you, Winston. I'm due back at the hospital this afternoon."

"I could always order you to take the afternoon off."

"Thank you. But I've got too much to do."

Winston stood, finished off his first glass of port, refilled it and then motioned toward a burgundy upholstered bergere to the side of his massive inlaid Louis XIV style d'ore ormolu and inlaid wood bureau plat desk.

"I knew that sooner or later you'd be contacting me."

"Did you?" Beverly didn't mean to be wary, but the Fleet Admiral of Starfleet was known to be a man with a Machiavellian side to his soul.

"Yes." He sat behind his _le Roi-Soleil_ decorated desk. "I didn't imagine that it would take you that long to decide to tell me that you really don't want to be head of Starfleet Medical."

"I never said that I didn't wish to be head of Starfleet Medical. I do appreciate what you've done for Jean-Luc - and for me..."

He interrupted her. "Stuff it, Red." He drank some more port before he added. "I did what I did for Jean-Luc because it was what he wanted. _What I did for you was because __I __wanted __it__."_

Very politely, Beverly said, "Oh?"

He chuckled. "I knew that you really didn't want to be CMO. You've already done it. And learned that it's really a job for a doctor with a bureaucrat's heart. And you don't have the heart of a bureaucrat."

Again, she politely said, "Oh?"

He chuckled some more. "Only place I could put you when Jean-Luc dropped his bombshell on me about leaving the _Enterprise_. But the job's _only temporary_, doctor. So don't get too used to being a dictator. You're only the provisional head for a while. Admiral Cuddy will be taking over after you, when it's time."

Beverly didn't say anything this time since she was trying not to gape.

Winston Holt Wiley poured himself a third glass of port. "When the time comes, I'll still keep you on the board of Starfleet Medical. That board is in sore need of members who actually remember what it is like to be a doctor on board starships. I expect you to be the cool voice of sanity midst all the hot air the board usually generates."

"I see."

"Somehow you don't look like you do." Winston stood, shoved back his massive armchair and then walked over and grabbed the empty glass and the decanter off of the _table por deux._ He poured Beverly a glass of port and handed it to her. This time, Beverly did drink the port, in spite of the fact that she really didn't like that type of wine.

"Beverly, I've always had you in mind for another job. At the time I first considered you for this position, Jean-Luc had a habit of squashing any new job offers that you might get when you were his CMO of the _Enterprise_. I knew that I'd have to figure out a way of getting you off the ship with Jean-Luc's permission. Fortunately, Jean-Luc came up with the perfect solution on his own."

"What new position?" Beverly's voice only croaked a little bit.

"Remember the last time you were CMO?" She nodded. He hit a button on his desk, and holographic images of starships appeared in front of her. "You came up with the idea of a fleet of hospital ships."

"That idea was declined…"

"You mean the board shot it down with all their puny, petty little canons a'blazin'…"

"I guess you could say that," Beverly agreed.

"Well, _I liked the idea_. Thought about it for a while. And then did something about it. Your ships are being built at Utopia Planetia and Proxima Centauri. The first of them will be ready within twenty-four months."

Beverly drained her glass of port.

"In about three months, I'll make the formal announcement about this new step forward for the Federation and for Starfleet Medical. We'll have a fleet of hospital ships, triage ships…"

"_Triage?"_

"Didn't know what else to call them. They'll be smaller ships. But they'll be fast. When a disaster strikes, they'll be the first ships in, assessing the situations, and so forth. And when the hospital ship shows up, they'll be the ships responsible for prioritizing the needs of the situation. Or whatever uses you decide for them to have."

The idea was beginning to grow on her.

"Right now we're planning on two hospital ships and eight triage ships. Estimate time of launching between twenty-four to forty-eight months. With more down the pike depending upon how well this idea is received by the Federation Council."

"The Council knows?"

"Sort of. I've not formally announced it to them, yet. But with those delegates with whom I have discussed it, all agree that you should be the one in charge."

"Me?" She was having trouble accepting the idea that she was now the focus of Winston's machinations.

"Every person who knows you or has read your record, knows that you are a doctor _first _- and _then_ a Starfleet officer."

"There are enough reprimands in my record that state that fact."

"More than a few times over the years - fortunately, for you."

Beverly raised an eyebrow.

"These ships, Beverly. They're not going to be _Starfleet_ starships. They're going to be _Federation_ vessels commanded by Starfleet officers and crew. But the majority of the medical personnel are going to be civilians. The boss in charge has to be someone that all sides agree upon. And you're it." He nodded toward the holographic ships. "And you're the one who has got to staff these ships. Find the Starfleet personnel as well as the civilian personnel. And then figure out how to get all of them to work together. You have _carte blanche _- at least over Starfleet."

"Oh my," she whispered.

"The triage ships are redesigned Intrepid class starships. The hospital ships are Galaxy class, though in the future we may use Sovereign class. You need to examine the specs, and come up with any changes, additions, corrections etc., that you think are necessary. Solve the problems. Fine tune the ships. Build the fleet, Beverly. Make this hospital fleet into one of the Federation's greatest humanitarian achievements."

Beverly considered his words, nodded, and then stood to more closely examine the largest of the ships. "I have a few questions."

Winston tossed her a padd. "I am sure that you do."


	4. Chapter 4: Still Attached

_**Life with Beverly**_

_**Chapter 4:**_

She was bubbling with excitement. That was the only way that Jean-Luc could describe the condition of the Admiral Picard that waltzed into the library, pirouetting about before jumping up to sit perched on top of the empty space at the corner of his side of their partner desk. Her hair had loosened from its upsweep and was randomly falling about her shoulders as she leaned over and grabbed his collar as she pulled him into a kiss.

A minute later she slid onto his lap, and kissed him again.

"My, you're in a good mood, _mon coeur,_" Jean-Luc managed to observe a few minutes later as he tried to steady his squirming, passionate wife on his lap. He sniffed. And smelled more than her usual perfume There was wine on her breath. "And you obviously had lunch with a few other admirals this afternoon. Or was it a diplomatic affair?"

"No affair. No admirals either - _an_ admiral. Winnie invited me for lunch."

Hiding his trepidation at this announcement, for he'd been unaware of a luncheon with _the_ Fleet Admiral on her schedule, he uttered, in a concerned yet casual tone, "And I take it that the luncheon was to your liking?"

"I am _not_ the CMO of Starfleet Medical!" she gleefully announced before she started smothering him with kisses again as she straddled him.

Trying to pry information out of an amorous wife was a skill that Jean-Luc had yet to acquire. "Computer, privacy lock," he managed to gasp during her onslaught.

"Silly darling," she answered as she took a breath and then stood to work on the closure to his olive silk shirt. Leaning over him, he suddenly found his face pressed into her bosom.

"What?" He was somewhat befuddled at the moment.

"Don't you know that Mildred has the computer automatically set the privacy lock whenever it's just the two of us in a room - _any _room?" As this unnerving, embarrassing piece of news was comprehended, Beverly slid to her knees between his legs. Then she tackled his waistband.

He grabbed her wrists, stilling her. He could tell that something important had happened to his wife this afternoon. And that she was in no mood to tell him at this specific moment. So he did the only thing that he could do and keep his sanity. "Upstairs. _Now_."

"Oh, I love it when you revert back to _Captain _Picard, and think that you can still order me around," she purred as she danced her way to the iron spiral staircase leading up to their bedroom. She held his hand all the way.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

"Hmmm…," she hummed into her husband's bare chest. Not that she would admit it out loud in case it might wreak havoc with his ego, but the aftermath of their lovemaking, when she was joyfully held in his embrace, was her most favorite time with Jean-Luc. She could rest against him, feel the security of his warmth, hear the steady beat of his heart, and know the sheer satisfaction of finally being held in his arms. So many years had been filled with emptiness and longing. And now it was bliss.

Then she considered her new job. She knew that she would have to choose her words carefully. She didn't want her husband to think that she was not grateful for his prior maneuverings on her behalf when he had been negotiating for her position as CMO when he'd first told the Fleet Admiral that he wished to leave his captaincy. But it was her work, her ideas, that had captured Winston Holt Wiley's attention. And finally, she was being given a job that really meant something. An opportunity to make a real difference. A job that she had earned with hard work and sacrifice. She could barely control her burgeoning excitement.

"Jean-Luc…", she whispered, expectantly.

He said nothing.

Raising her head she looked up at her husband's face. He was sleeping. She rolled off of him a bit, waiting to see if her movements would awaken him. They did not.

Lifting his arm over her head, she laid it to rest across her breast. That did not awaken him either though he did pull her a little closer. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment.

Three hours later he awakened her with a kiss.

"Mmmmm…," she sighed as she recognized the touch of the man who kissed her with such great tenderness.

"Time to get up, Beverly. We're due at Admiral Brand's house for dinner in less than two hours."

She bolted upright into a sitting position. "What? It's that late?"

"You fell asleep."

"No, you were asleep."

"Then you fell asleep. I woke up a few hours ago…"

"You let me sleep?"

"Beverly, I checked your schedule. Since Holt had already given you the afternoon off, I decided, for a change, to let you listen to what your body was telling you. I let you sleep."

Even as she stood and accepted a turquoise embroidered robe from her husband's hands, she was thinking. "You know, I think we need to be checked out. Maybe we are suffering from Starfleet time zone syndrome. It's been quite a while since both of us have been on a continuing planetary diurnal/nocturnal schedule. Maybe we haven't quite adjusted to the changes yet."

"Is that why a Dr. Norah Bolt sent me a message confirming our physicals in two days?"

"Oh." Beverly paused, "I meant to mention that. I can't be your personal physician anymore, Jean-Luc. Dr. Bolt comes highly recommended by some of my medical friends as well as Mildred. And I like her."

"You no longer wish to be my personal physician?"

She could sense the hurt behind his calm words. "It's not proper protocol here on Earth. You're now my husband…"

"And a physician should not treat immediate family members…", he added. He understood but he didn't like it. A thought occurred to him. "Did Guinan suggest this Dr. Bolt as well?"

"Kate Pulaski may have mentioned it to her."

Jean-Luc frowned. "If Captain Pulaski knows about your search, then that might explain why a hundred-and-forty-seven year-old Vulcan physician known for his disapproval of humans in general and Starfleet officers in particular, sent me a subspace message inquiring about my arrival plans for coming to Vulcan for a physical. And he also was wondering why I had selected him in the first place."

Beverly walked into the dressing. Jean-Luc followed her. "You really can't just blame Kate for that one. There are other suspects." Though privately, Beverly was sure that Kate Pulaski was the most likely suspect.

"True. Both Will and Guinan are capable of plotting such a thing."

Beverly stood in front of her row of evening gowns. She'd acquired quite a few during the past few months. "Evening gowns or dress uniform tonight?"

"It's not too formal of an affair. I think."

"Good. I just bought a new gown." She arched an eyebrow as she grinned at her husband. "You might find it _interesting…"_

"There may be cadets in attendance."

She made a face at him. "Spoilsport. I'll just have to save that dress for our six-month anniversary…" With that riposte, she walked into the bathroom.

By the sounds of the water, he decided that she was taking a water shower instead of a bath. _Perhaps he should join her…_

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

"Food poisoning?" she mumbled. Beverly didn't want to open her eyes. In fact, she didn't want to move at all. Period. Yet something, or someone, was prodding her.

"Admiral, open your eyes."

Reluctantly she pried open one lid. And then the other. She recognized the dark eyes staring back at her. "Dr. Bolt?" she whispered.

"Your at Starfleet Medical. You _and_ your husband."

Beverly closed both eyes for a moment. Thinking. "It must have been the jerk chicken…"

"For what?" Dr. Bolt patiently asked.

"The food poisoning."

"No one else, other than the other Admiral Picard, became ill." Dr. Bolt chuckled. "Though that won't stop the rumor mills from working over time at the thought that Admiral Brand poisoned not one, but two admirals."

"The chicken wasn't that spicy. Jean-Luc can stomach…"

"Klingon cuisine," Dr. Bolt interrupted. "He informed me of that fact a few minutes ago. In between his most vocal demands that we take care of you first."

"That's my Jean-Luc," she muttered to herself.

Dr. Nora Bolt smiled, checked the monitors above her patient's head, and then nodded at a nurse to continue the monitoring, as she walked away from her patient's bedside in the admiral's wing at Starfleet General. Once the wretchedly ill couple had been beamed over to emergency from Admiral Brand's once quiet dinner party, Dr. Bolt had been summoned after it was determined that the admiral's flu-like symptoms were not life threatening. The admirals had then been moved into the secured wing of the hospital that treated important Federation or Starfleet personages, diplomats and admirals.

Dr. Bolt had already figured out what was wrong with Dr. Beverly Howard Crusher Picard. But trying to figure out why her husband had the identical symptoms was the mystery here. Returning to her office she pulled up the medical and classified files that she now had access to because she was their personal physician, and started investigating the commonalities of the admiral's lives.

About half an hour later, she was commed. "Yes?"

"Dr. Bolt. Admiral Picard is insisting that he be returned to his residence. He says that the nausea has stopped. And that he is no longer light-headed."

"What about the other admiral?"

"She's demanding the same thing, after she speaks to you of course." The blond haired, Swedish medical resident at the other end of the comm link suddenly grinned. "As sick admirals go, she's not too terrible."

"And hear tell I always that that it was doctors who made the worst patients." Nora smiled, shaking her head. Her long honey-brown hair was tied up in a pony tail. It bounced as she moved. Dr. Bolt was a tall woman, from old California stock. Her mother had married a part-Betazoid man, so Nora had inherited a slight empathic/telepathic ability from him. This ability also made her a very good doctor.

"Nils, tell Admiral Beverly Picard that I'll be down to see her personally. And tell Admiral Jean-Luc Picard that the more that he protests, the more tests I will find to run."

Nils grinned as he signed off.

A few minutes later after she double checked the medical reports from a certain incident, Dr. Bolt walked into Beverly's private room and shut the door.

"Well, Dr. Bolt," a much less lethargic Admiral Picard asked as she touched the bed controls so that she was now sitting upright. "Food poisoning or a particularly nasty strain of Asamorian flu?"

Nora pulled up a chair. "Neither." Then she said nothing.

Beverly thought for a few moments before guessing, "An allergy? I can't recall ever becoming so nauseous so swiftly before."

"That's a possibility, though it is unlikely since the other Admiral Picard suffered from the same symptoms as well."

"Don't tell me it was poison…" Beverly's eyes darkened at this thought. She was well aware that there was a reason behind all of the security precautions that Jean-Luc had ordered once they'd arrived on Earth. Even though he'd been dismissive of them as normal operating procedures to her, Beverly knew better.

"No." Dr. Bolt patted Beverly's hand. "This was not an assassination attempt."

"That's good to know." Beverly sighed in relief and relaxed. And then she really looked at Dr. Bolt. "Dr. Bolt…" It was then that Beverly realized that the lady was quite amused. _With her_.

"The only other thing that I can think of is that I am pregnant." Beverly shook her head. "But that can't be right. Jean-Luc got sick too…"

"Sympathetic symptoms."

Beverly merely looked at Dr. Bolt in disbelief. "Are you telling me that I am pregnant?"

"About twenty-five days ago."

"Our last day on Risa?" Beverly whispered to herself.

Nora raised an eyebrow. It was the only outward indication that she'd overheard Beverly's mutterings. She hadn't quite pegged the CMO of Starfleet Medical and the former Captain Jean-Luc Picards as being the Risian type.

"But Jean-Luc's vomiting…"

"I ran across something in your med charts. About the incident on KesPrytt…"

Beverly nodded. "Yes, we were psychically joined. But that link dissolved when the emitters were removed from our brains."

"Well, I think that you still are linked on a very diminished, subconscious level. I don't have any evidence of that - yet. I'd like to run a few tests. But as you may know, I am part Betazoid. And I can sense the link between you and your husband."

Beverly weakly giggled. "And all of my surging hormones probably stimulated that link."

"You don't disagree with me?"

"You mean, do I acknowledge that I think that there is a tenuous link between myself and my husband? Well, I do. I've suspected it ever since we became lovers." Beverly sighed as she thought about her husband. "There have been times when I've felt it. And most recently, I've been feeling it quite a bit." She grinned. "Poor Jean-Luc."

"Uh…"

Beverly chuckled. "I just realized that Jean-Luc is never going to know _his_ definition of normal again." Beverly didn't explain further. She moved more upright. "I take it that the fetus is healthy?"

"Oh yes, in spite of your, uh, maturity, everything seems normal. Though I will wish to closely monitor you for the next two months at least."

"Good. I really want this baby. And I have a suspicion that my husband will want it even more than I do, if such a thing is possible."

Beverly would have said more if she hadn't been interrupted by Wesley bursting into the room.

"Mom! Are you all right?"

Dr. Bolt stood up in a defensive mode, when Beverly simply said, "This is my son Wesley, Dr. Bolt." Dr. Bolt relaxed, nodded at the cadet, and then exited the room.

"Mom, are you all right?" her son worriedly repeated as he knelt by her bedside. "I got called away from the UP and was told that you were sick. And so was Jean-Luc." He took a quick breath. "And that you were poisoned at Admiral Brand's farewell dinner party."

"Not quite right, Wesley. Admiral Brand didn't poison us - though if you and your classmates had been there, I might have suspected otherwise. I know how rough you all have been on that lady," she teased.

The fact that his mother was teasing him caused Wesley to calm down quickly. "Then you're _really _okay?"

"I will be. _Really."_

"_Oh._" Wesley pulled himself together. "What happened?"

"It's something that I'm going to have to discuss with Jean-Luc." Beverly reached up and caressed her son's cheek. "Can you stay the night, tonight? I think that they're releasing us in a few hours. Then I can talk to you at the house."

He hesitated for just a moment, before answering, "Sure, Mom."

"You were doing something."

Wesley ruefully stated, "I was working with my team on our senior engineering project. I've been working on creating nanites that can survive in the plasma stream so that they can clean the plasma manifolds as an on-going project…"

"Come to dinner tomorrow night, Wes. I'm sure Jean-Luc and I will both be released by then." She chuckled. "We weren't really sick - just nauseous."

"I heard that Jean-Luc, uh, vomited over Admiral Brand's dinner table."

"Not quite right. Jean-Luc made it to the balcony before that happened. I was the one who found a rather unique use for an antique wine cooler and stand. I'm going to have to convey my apologies to Admiral Brand in the morning."

"I already did." A slightly shaky Jean-Luc Picard stood in the doorway. He was wearing a hospital gown, much to Beverly's amusement. He nodded at Wes.

Beverly extended her hand toward her husband. "Somehow, I don't think that Dr. Bolt gave you permission to get out of bed."

As he walked toward her, he announced, "I outrank… the nurse," he sheepishly admitted.

Beverly waited a moment. "Well, since they're not coming in here to drag your tail back to your bed, I am assuming that you are going to be all right."

"That Dr. Bolt smirked at me, Beverly!" he complained, "When I asked her how you were, she _smirked!"_

Trying not to laugh, Beverly motioned for Wesley to sit down on the other side of her hospital bed as Jean-Luc sat down next to her.

He continued to complain. "Dr. Bolt is not acceptable as our private physician. We must choose another doctor."

"I like her," Beverly sweetly said. "And you'll like her too, once she's done running all of her tests."

"More tests?"

"Why not now. She really does have to find out why you fainted…"

Her husband harrumphed.

Beverly turned to her son. "Wes, we both will be fine. So you go back to your project. And see us tomorrow night."

Still a little unsure of what he should do, Wes bent over and kissed his mother's cheek, then walked over to his step-father and shook the man's hand. "I wouldn't be going back if Mom hadn't ordered me," the cadet explained.

"Trust me, Wesley. I have experienced your Mother's _orders_ before. I truly do understand."

"Be gone!" she ordered with a laugh, sweeping her hand in the door's direction.

After Wesley had closed the door behind him leaving them alone, Beverly pulled her husband back down to her side and then embraced him tightly. "How do you feel?" she whispered.

"Much better than two hours ago," he ruefully admitted. He pressed a kiss against his beloved's cheek. "What happened?"

"If what Dr. Bolt suspects is correct, it is a bit of a long explanation."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"We're pregnant."

It was a good thing that the superintendent of the academy was sitting down when his wife had uttered these words. Otherwise he probably would have fallen.

It took a few moments before he could breathe again.

Somewhere in the distance, Beverly could hear alarms going off. She wasn't that surprised when Dr. Bolt rushed into the room, waving a medical tricorder. "Is everything all right?"

"I told him," was Beverly's cool reply.

Dr. Bolt stopped directly in front of Jean-Luc. And scanned him twice. Then she announced, "I'll just leave now. But I'll be back in ten minutes. You both need to rest - alone."

"Dr. Bolt - Nora," Beverly calmly stated. "I have found that Jean-Luc rests much better when we are together. Please make those arrangements."

Deciding not to disagree with a command from the current head of Starfleet Medical, Dr. Bolt agreed, saying, "I'll have his bed moved in here."

"Good idea," was all the Beverly needed to say before the doctor left the room, leaving them alone again.

Jean-Luc took a deep breath, "Did you say that _we_ are expecting a child?"

"Yes, in about eight months. Once I go in for my pre-natal physical I'll have a better idea of the due date."

"_Mon Dieu," _he whispered as he positioned himself close to Beverly so that he could hold her in his arms. "You are all right?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc. It's going to take me a little while to get used to the idea, but so far, it seems like a good one."

"Oh Beverly. A child, _mon coeur_." He just had to kiss her. Then he had a sudden thought. "Do we know if…?"

"Not yet. Do you wish to know if it is a boy or a girl?"

"It really doesn't matter to me. As long as you remain healthy and the baby is healthy." He rested his head against Beverly's shoulder. Then raised his head again. "What about your new job? Holt isn't going to like…"

"Holt will like whatever I will tell him to like," Beverly sternly replied. "I'll suggest that he will be the godfather. That will give him proprietorship over spoiling the baby." She snuggled closer to her husband. "Besides, I'll still be on Earth when the baby is due. A lot of what I have to do I can do from home, if necessary." She raised her head. "You don't have a problem with my working, do you, Jean-Luc?"

"But…"

"Jean-Luc, we will solve the problems as they arise. There isn't anything that we can't handle as long as we do it together."

_Truer words_, he whispered as he leaned in to kiss his bride.

Neither lover noticed Dr. Bolt entering the room until she cleared her throat. A moment later a hospital bed floated into the room. Dr. Bolt ordered the attendants to place it next to Beverly's bed, causing the equipment to be rearranged a bit in order to accommodate the changes in the room.

"Smart woman," Beverly muttered to herself. In a louder voice she asked, "Are you keeping us here over night?"

"Just for a few more hours. Your blood chemistry is showing some interesting almost identical hormonal changes and levels."

Now, Jean-Luc was curious. "How is that possible?"

Beverly answered, "It seems that the KesPrytt changed us more than we recognized at the time."

Instead of complaining or protesting, Jean-Luc simply said, "Well, that makes sense."

"It does?" asked Dr. Bolt, as she checked the monitors and mentally started making additional notes for her reports.

"Yes. I've always felt a connection with Beverly on some level. But after KesPrytt, this connection seemed more prominent - more powerful." Jean-Luc glanced at his wife. "In fact, because of this connection, I found myself questioning some of Beverly's actions, since my instincts told me otherwise…"

The wife attempted to swat her husband's shoulder, but her arm stopped in mid air. "Uh oh…"

As if by magic, Dr. Bolt produced a hypospray and administered another anti-nausea shot. She gave Jean-Luc one too, for good measure. "You're not leaving the hospital until I figure out a way to properly control the nausea in both of you."

"Properly set neuro-cortex stimulators should do the trick," Beverly observed.

"That's one possibility, Admiral Picard," Dr. Bolt agreed.

"You'd better start calling me Beverly. Otherwise both of us Picards might get confused. Nora."

"Of course. Beverly." She glanced over at the other admiral in the room. He nodded. "Jean-Luc," she added. She would have said more but there was a tap on the door.

Opening it, Admiral Brand entered. "I am sooooo sorry," the still very worried woman stated as she walked into the room.

"It wasn't food poisoning," Beverly quickly replied. "We are the ones who are truly sorry for disrupting your lovely party in such an unpleasant manner."

"Don't be silly, Beverly." Admiral Brand looked over at Jean-Luc. "Beverly seems to have perked up. How about you?"

"I will be fine, Mercedes," Jean-Luc replied. "About tomorrow…"

"Both Admiral Picards are spending the next twenty-four hours resting," Dr. Bolt announced. "Whether it is at home or here in the hospital is entirely up to them, and how well they obey my orders."

Andrea Brand could only grin at that thought when it came to Jean-Luc Picard.

"We both will be very good," Beverly promised. And she meant it.

And they were.


	5. Chapter 5 Life's Little Vicissitudes

_**Life with Beverly**_

_**CHAPTER 5: Life's Little Vicissitudes **_

He harrumphed. She tried very hard not to laugh. They passed each other like two starships in the night. One lover going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. The other lover returning from the bathroom and going back to bed in the middle of the night.

Jean-Luc Picard was not a happy man at this moment.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Beverly eyed the mound of chocolate ice cream covered with a river of not one but three different types of fudge sauces, smothered in whipped cream and topped with several red maraschino cherries on the various peaks to this chocolate mountain. There was a hand full of toasted almonds thrown on top for good measure.

Her mouth watered as she approached the small dining table in their breakfast room.

Jean-Luc Picard picked up his silver, long handled spoon, smiled at his wife, understood her intent and warned, "Beverly, go get your own."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Mildred puttered about the superintendent's office. Jean-Luc Picard had been sworn in as the head of Starfleet Academy two weeks ago. And life was slowly establishing itself into a somewhat normal routine. Mildred had decided to stay at the estate office though, and not take over the running of the superintendent's office. She was just helping out at the moment until one of Admiral Brand's former personal assistants returned from leave. This assistant, Michael Murphy, had been a fixture in the superintendent's office for decades. Mildred was grateful that the man had decided to stay and serve Jean-Luc Picard since Murphy was definitely a man who knew where all the bodies were buried. And if not, he had enough of a detective's instinct in him to ferret out the solutions to any problems that might arise.

Mildred was satisfied with the way things were set at the moment. She wasn't quite sure which path she would follow when the time came. For much as Jean-Luc needed her here at the Academy, Beverly's new job would require equally skillful handling. Throw in the upcoming blessed event, and Mildred knew that she would have too much to do in the near future. And Starfleet Medical wouldn't countenance her being cloned. They kept repeatedly denying that request. She had to find more help that would live up to her high standards. She considered poaching Lieutenant Commander S'Rock back from Winston Holt Wiley…

The sound of the door sliding open captured her attention.

"Mrs. Krebs." Jean-Luc nodded at the lady as he sat down behind the crystalline desk in his ultra-modern superintendent's office. He didn't like the desk. In fact, after becoming accustomed to the wood and leather of his home office - not to mention the fact that he shared it with his wife - Admiral Picard found the gleaming surfaces and metals of his new, silver and Federation Blue office to be wanting. Perhaps one day, he would change the décor of the office. But that was not of importance at the moment.

Mildred eyed the empty cookie plate on the crystalline credenza. Then she studied her boss. And she uttered the words that she'd been secretly dieing to say to him for years. "Johnny, are you putting on weight?"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

He _was_ putting on weight, the admiral ruefully admitted to himself as he studied his naked body in the dressing room mirror. Not much, but still, it was unacceptable to him.

His equally naked bride walked by, eyed his body, slapped his derriere, and announced, "We're going walking in the morning." She then grabbed a red nightgown and went into their bedroom.

He trailed after her. "I rather think that I need some more dance lessons."

She donned her nightgown, turned to face her husband and thought for a moment. "Well, obviously I can no longer teach you in the morning. With my schedule and yours… We no longer have the time. And trying to get together for a quick lesson during _lunch_ isn't that practical since thirty minutes is not that much time…"

"We're admirals, Beverly. We can take as long as we wish for _lunch."_

"True. But with our senses of duty and having so much to do, neither one of us would actually do it."

"On a regular basis, that is true. But every once in a while? When we feel like dancing…" He put his arms about his bride's slightly expanding waistline and pulled her close to him.

"Hmmm... You're in the mood tonight, my darling?"

"_Mon coeur, _whenever you are feeling amorous, so am I."

Beverly showed Jean-Luc that this was true.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Without saying a word, Beverly pulled the hypospray out of her night stand drawer and gave her husband as well as herself, doses of the anti-nausea medicine that Dr. Bolt had prescribed.

"Thank you, _mon coeur._" He sighed with relief as his stomach settled down. He was not a man who cared for the indignity of nausea and its aftermath.

She sat up, and disengaged herself from her husband's arms. "Time to go for a walk."

"I can think of a more pleasurable exercise," was his response as he tried to persuade her with his touch to lie back down. His hand massaged the small of her back.

Beverly looked out the window and noted that dawn was barely breaking. It looked really chilly outside. She glanced down at her husband, considered the warmth of their bed, and came to a more reasonable decision.

"Computer, reset the alarm for ninety minutes from now…"

=/\= =/\= =/\=

"Marie wants us to come for Christmas."

Jean-Luc sipped a little of his burgundy before he responded to his wife's words. "That's several months away."

Beverly sipped some of her burgundy. Her wine, however, was the synthehol kind. And then she shifted a bit, pressing herself more intimately against Jean-Luc's chest. They were reclining together on the chesterfield burgundy leather upholstered couch in front of the fireplace in their library. A real log fire resting on some ancient French bronze chenets, was crackling and popping. For a change, the busy admirals were spending a quiet evening at home. Alone.

There was a tap on the door. "Computer, permit entry," Jean-Luc called out. The burled walnut library door swung open.

Ludvig nodded as he entered the room. "Admiral Beverly. Admiral Picard. Just a light snack." On the table by the couch, he placed a silver tray, and lifted the domed cover. "Baked brie with hazelnuts, cream cheese with Jezebel sauce, and my special _hors d'ouevre _crackers." With a flourish he produced two linen napkins and canapé knives from the pocket of his apron. "Naturally, if you wish anything else, my refrigerator has more than a few items to tempt you - including my special chocolate bombes. And there is a wonderful fruit salad that I am planning on serving for breakfast. But I made more than enough for you, Admiral Beverly, to have some tonight if you wish."

"Thank you, Ludvig." Beverly was amused by the chef's attentiveness. Ever since her pregnancy had become common knowledge, Ludvig was trying to fulfill her every possible craving.

The somewhat short, not-quite-portly dark-haired chef announced, "If there is nothing else…" Jean-Luc shook his head. "…then I shall say good night. I am attending a concert this evening." With that he bowed, left the room and secured the door shut.

"You'd think this house didn't have a replicator," Jean-Luc observed as he sat up, fixed a cracker with the melted brie and handed it to his bride. Beverly sat up as well, taking the cracker.

"Replicated food is not as healthy for pregnant women as real, prepared food is - according to Mildred," Beverly added. "Actually, I think that Mildred is just trying to give Ludvig something to do. She doesn't want to lose one of the best chefs in Starfleet."

"That certainly is true," Jean-Luc amiably agreed. He was in a mellow, relaxed mood tonight. All was well with the world. _And with his love._

"Rumor has it that Ludvig is smitten with someone."

"What else did Mildred tell you, Beverly?"

Beverly grinned between bites of brie. "It was Wesley who told me."

Watching his wife eat, Jean-Luc merely shook his head. They'd had dinner less than two hours earlier. But far be it for him to utter any words of comment. He was not that suicidal.

Settling back into his former position, Jean-Luc drank some more wine. "You were saying something about Marie… And Christmas?"

"Our respective calendars are filling up swiftly. Marie wants to get a commitment out of you before you could come up with a perfectly valid excuse not to go home."

Jean-Luc put down his Baccarat red wine goblet on the table flanking the couch. "I suppose I could put up with Robert for a few days." His voice softened. "The last time I actually went home for Christmas was when I was a sophomore cadet…" He closed his eyes as he remembered. "There's this wondrous 18th century village church that managed to survive the Revolution as well as all the other subsequent wars and occupations. Mama would insist that all of us - even Father - go to midnight mass." He chuckled. "Insisting that Father go to midnight mass was one of the few instances where Mama won out over Father's intransigence when it came to formalized religion."

"And you? Did you need persuading?" Beverly wiped her fingers on her napkin and placed it on the coffee table.

"Not exactly. The church of Ste. Magdalena had a superb organist. I'd go early just to hear his Christmas concert before mass. Once I went to the Academy, I stopped attending services. I didn't have the time between my studies and my duties." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. "Or rather, that is what I told myself. The truth is I gave up on formalized religion. I've always looked for God in my stars..."

Beverly put down her glass, and curled up some more into Jean-Luc's chest. She stroked the soft silk of his shirt and then stroked his cheek. "Neither one of us have really subscribed to an organized religion. Still…"

"When one is having a child, it is something to think about."

She nodded into his chest. "Jack was Catholic. So Wesley was baptized…"

Jean-Luc nodded into his wife's head. "Yes. I can recall more than a few spirited debates with Jack about religion."

"After Jack died, Wesley and I moved around so much that I never really found the time to teach Wesley…"

He kissed the top of his wife's head. "Considering how well Wesley has turned out, you must have done many things right." He hugged her. "We don't have to make any decisions right now."

"No." Beverly lifted her head so that she could place a soft kiss on his lips. Then she snuggled even more into his arms. "We don't have to, right now…"

He moved a bit so that his left hand came to rest on her abdomen. He reverently rubbed her stomach for a minute or so. He was quiet for a while, perfectly content to just hold his love and listen to the beat of her heart against his own.

"I wish it could stay like this," Beverly contentedly sighed.

He stroked her hair for a moment, then contentedly sighed himself. _"Mon coeur_… we're expecting a baby…," he whispered, filled with the wonder of it.

"Now that truly is a miracle, my love," she agreed.

The End - For Now

_A.N. There will be more stories to come. Of course the story of the impending birth of the Picard baby - or babies - will be coming soon. Along with Wesley's struggles at the Academy, Deanna going huntin' for bear, and Beverly starting her new job._

_For all of you who have left such kind reviews and suggestions, I do thank you. Live long and prosper. Mab _


End file.
